


Rise and Fall

by dandelionway



Series: The Unabridged Fervor [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Healing, Hell, M/M, depiction of hell, kinda gory, supernatural verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionway/pseuds/dandelionway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's only mission is to save the Righteous Man from Hell, but he finds himself with an unexpected attachment to Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rise and Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So, I took a lot of liberties with this fic. First, angels don't have vessels, their true form looks like their human vessels they have in the show. For instance, Castiel looks like Jimmy Novak, except there is no Jimmy Novack, Castiel looks like him all the time, even though he is not human. (Make sense?? I don't know either). Second, I'm kind of making up the universe. You'll understand what I mean if you read the first chapter. Third, there is no third as of yet, but I'm sure there will be. Hope you enjoy!!

_Dean Winchester’s life is in your hands, Castiel. Save the Righteous Man._

Castiel repeats these words as a mantra inside of his head, a driving force that propels him headfirst through Hell. The air is humid, saturated with sulfur and blood and bits of wandering and broken souls. It feels as though needles are pressing at every inch of his skin, digging and snagging and ripping at both flesh and mind. Castiel feels his wings losing their feathers slowly, catching fire and burning in a white-blue flame.

He can feel Dean everywhere—that’s the problem. Dean’s presence, his _soul_ , fills the endless corridors, the endless rooms of torture and misery and jail that Castiel flies through. Because he was assigned to him, Castiel is more in tune to Dean than he is to anything else, but he can barely concentrate, his senses clouded by the very essence of the human.

It feels like years until he finds Dean—and maybe it has been. He is in what resembles a large warehouse. He is chained to a rack, wires pouring out of his sliced open chest. His eyelids are drooping shut, shoulders slouching. Castiel levitates himself so he is face to face with Dean. He is reaching a hand out to grab the man’s shoulder when Dean’s eyes fly open and he lets out a blood curdling scream. Castiel recoils quickly, beating his wings so he is several feet away from the rack. Dean keeps screaming, struggling against the chains.

Castiel knows he has to act fast. He undoes the shackles with ease; they were not meant to keep the supernatural from breaking them, only Dean. He wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, and puts one hand to his shoulder. He flies out of the room, the wires ripping out of Dean’s body, which increases the volume of his screams. He is kicking and thrashing and punching in Castiel’s arms, and if he were not so set on his mission for his father Castiel may have just dropped the man.

Dean has stopped screaming and has fallen asleep by the time they arrive at Hell’s exit, a door as wide and tall as a mansion, and are stopped short by a large dragon, an elegant yet terrifying creature. She has human breasts protruding from her chest, and vines of roses are sprouted out of her feet and wind up her long legs. Her wings are sturdier than Castiel’s, and not made of silk feathers—they are a much better fit for Hell.

“Allow us to pass,” Castiel says, his voice surprisingly strong. “We are of little importance, and do not belong here.”

“Those who are here are always here for a reason,” the creature says, her voice deep and smooth. “Hell is a place of entry, not of escape.” The words are rehearsed and lacking passion.

Castiel sighs. The gate keeper is known for her neutrality. That means she has to be reasonable.

“I have with me the Righteous Man. The man who is destined to save the universe from peril; without him, Earth, Heaven, and Hell will fall to chaos. _Let us through._ ” The dragon, presumably bored, nods once with her enormous head, and opens the door. Castiel feels a small pang of guilt, for he knows that by allowing them to pass, the dragon almost certainly will face her death. But it is gone instantly, for he knows that his task is far more important.

Castiel beats his wings hard, reaching higher and higher. He slows and resides Dean and himself in a small isolated room, a place filled with nothingness as it is between Hell and Earth. He lays Dean on the floor carefully, watching as his body shudders with what he assumes is nightmares. Castiel lies next to the man, his head propped up on one elbow. He places his other hand right above Dean’s chest, not quite touching it, and extracts his soul. He lifts it out enough that he can examine it, but leaves it close enough so that it is still attached to his body. It is white, unmistakably so, however it is tainted by bits of reds and browns and blacks. It is shaking, weak, but still fighting. He turns it slightly, pets the light, watching the wisps surround his hand like they are trying to bring him closer. Castiel smiles before he can stop himself.

Taking a deep breath, he focuses all of his energy in the center of his being, and lets it flow out through his hand, where it attaches to Dean’s soul, threading through the holes and creases. Castiel wanders through Dean’s body, his mind, his heart, filling up absences of power and healing the bruises and untwisting the mangled thoughts and emotions. He places Dean’s soul back in his body and lifts him up into a sitting position. Wrapping his arms around the man, binding them with his power, he heals Dean from the inside out, ridding him of any trace of Hell. He even attempts to extract the memories, but they are harder to take.

This is nothing like Castiel has ever felt before. It is overwhelming to be cleansing a mind, body, and soul all at the same time, especially of Dean Winchester, who has seen and experienced so much. This beautiful soul, forced into the ugly depths of the universe with no chance of ever escaping.

He feels wetness run down his cheek, but doesn’t think about the foreign response. He leaves the tear to dry.

Dean’s teeth are chattering, his body convulsing violently. Castiel raises his fingers to Dean’s forehead and puts him in a deeper sleep where he will not feel his body healing quite so much. They stay there, in that little blank room, for what seems like days, but is probably hours. Castiel watches Dean and watches the door, fearful they might be disturbed. Which is an unnecessary fear, as this place in between worlds is rarely even touched. That is why Castiel chose it; Dean would have no chance of healing completely, if at all, if someone were to break the contact between him and the angel.

When Castiel has done all the healing he can do, he rests. He does not sleep, but he allows his body to lie dormant, clearing his mind to find an inner peace. He rests for a human day at least—it is hard to tell time in this place—with Dean sleeping at his side. When he feels rejuvenated enough, Castiel flies upward, past worlds and galaxies until he reaches Earth. They land in a large field, grass dried brown and air sweltering hot.  

***

Castiel leaves before Dean wakes. He does, however, visit him two days later.

Dean is sitting in a small diner just outside of Ohio. His back is hunched, his eyes lidded, and it looks like he only managed to clean about three fourths of the dirt off of his face. But that might just be Castiel’s imagination.

He does not approach Dean. He sits at a table two booths in front of him and orders an orange juice, but only because it’s what he heard the person behind him say. Castiel tries not to stare at Dean too much—he does not want to be noticed, he’s only here to observe. To make sure Dean is all right. It isn’t his duty to do so. He was ordered to rescue Dean, and that was to be the end of it. But Castiel still feels it is his responsibility. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to never see Dean Winchester again. He doesn’t think about it too much.

Dean leaves the restaurant and Castiel doesn’t follow him.

The next day, Castiel flies to the gas station where he senses Dean. A fraction of a second after arriving, Castiel sees Dean burst out of the gas station with a strong confidence and two bags of food in his hand. A man’s voice sounds from inside the store, yelling at Dean to come back.

Castiel disappears seconds before Dean turns his head to look at him.

A week later and Castiel is becoming tired. He has never flown so much in such a small amount of time; the trip from Heaven to Hell, then to Earth, and then from Heaven to Earth back to Heaven so many times he can hardly keep count. For an older angel these distances would not be as tiring, but Castiel is still young. His wings have just filled out their full length, but he has yet to build up their muscle. They are weak and sore, and he admits he has been too proud to ask for help from Uriel or any of the other older angels. Castiel realizes that the trips to Earth are unnecessary and he could and _should_ take a prolonged vacation in Heaven, maybe even ask for a break from his duties.

But Dean is not in Heaven, and however pathetic he knows it to be, he cannot stay away. He often finds himself staring blatantly and wide eyed at the man, trying to decipher all the strange quirks and mannerisms he exhibits. Castiel has always found humanity very interesting, but Dean is just so _much,_ so much personality and instinct and grace.

Now, Castiel is visiting Dean at a nameless bar. He is sitting several seats away as usual, doing his best to blend in to the background. It is harder than he thought it would be.

Castiel feels a pounding in his forehead and he sighs. He soon realized after inhabiting Jimmy Novak’s body he also inhabited his painful migraines. He presses his palms to his eyes and takes three deep breaths. He is usually able to block out the pain that comes to Jimmy’s body, but now he is very weak, and decides he should save his energy.

When Castiel feels a hand on his hip and breath on his opposite ear, he knows it is Dean. His hands leave his eyes and he stiffens. No one has ever touched him like this, with soft fingers and a chest barely grazing his back. His mind is fuzzy and he doesn’t know what is happening. A second later and he feels a cold metal through his shirt. A gun. Dean’s voice is gruff and hoarse, and Castiel thinks distantly it is because they last time he spoke, he was screaming.

“Don’t say anything,” he says quietly. “Pretend I’m taking you home. _Don’t_ let anyone know I have a gun or I will shoot you and everyone else in this place.” Castiel knows he’s bluffing. He also knows that the gun won’t hurt him, but he goes where Dean leads him because not dying when someone shoots you normally raises suspicions.

They walk out of the bar and through the night, walking and walking and walking and Castiel isn’t paying attention to his surroundings anymore, only the shuffle of feet behind his and Dean’s steely presence. His hand has tightened on Castiel’s shirt, fingernails digging in his skin, and he thinks that maybe Dean doesn’t realize he’s doing it. He wonders why Dean is so angry, so miserable. But then he remembers where Dean has spent the last forty years.

They round a corner and Dean throws Castiel into the darkness, lifting the gun and aiming it directly at his chest.

“Who are you?” He grunts out. Castiel is silent. Dean cocks the gun. “ _Who are you?_ You’ve been following me for over a _week._ What do you want?”

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t find any words to say. Dean’s frown increases and he takes a step closer to Castiel.

“You’re a demon, yeah?” Castiel shakes his head but Dean doesn’t seem to believe him. “Son of a bitch, say something!” Dean is breathing harder now, frustrated and angry and a little bit scared.

Dean breathes, “ _Who are you_?”

***

Dean isn’t listening to Castiel. He’s watching the television, fingers whitening on the remote. Let’s rephrase that: Dean is _attempting_ to not listen to Castiel, because it is obvious that he does not want to acknowledge what he has to say. Castiel doesn’t know why he keeps trying—because it is important? Because it concerns the fate of the whole world? Or because for some strange, inexplicable reason, Castiel actually _enjoys_ the unnecessary bickering between Dean and himself? It is ridiculous, and childish, but he has never experienced these emotions. The emotions that make him want to pull his hair out, scream until his throat is sore. He knows that it is unusual to want and even crave these emotions when he leaves Dean, but he can’t seem to turn it off. Earth is so very different from Heaven.

***

 

Castiel has known Dean on Earth for almost seven weeks, human time. He’s been spending more time with Dean than in Heaven, lately, going on hunts and helping when Dean allows it (though he figures Dean just keeps him around for company, really—he doesn’t seem to like being helped). He thinks some angels have begun to notice, but they have yet to say anything. Dean has not gotten any less difficult to be around, but Castiel doesn’t mind, because sometimes Dean will call him Cas, and he looks at Castiel with something akin to sadness or appreciation or both.

The day that Dean gets back in touch with his little brother, Castiel knows that he should go back to Heaven before he gets hurt.

It’s instinct, he thinks. Not that he’s necessarily thought about what Dean is to him, but he knows that Dean has power over him. Power to hurt him and use his newfound emotions against him, whether it be intentional or not. The day before Dean’s brother arrives at Dean’s current hotel, Castiel tells Dean he won’t be back for a while. Going to Heaven—duties, family—Dean doesn’t seem all that eager to hear his excuses. He just goes into his room and shuts the door firmly, and Castiel sighs (a human thing, isn’t it?) and goes back home.

He’s a drifter in Heaven, has always been. Helping out here and there, but there’s always bigger and better angels who can replace him. Mostly, he sits by a small creek in the middle of tall redwoods, breathing even though he doesn’t need to, and he thinks to himself. He thinks mainly about what he’s seen, what he’d like to see, what he’s been feeling. He thinks that maybe he enjoys spending time with Dean because, in a reserved and awkward manner, he’s become a friend to Castiel. It’s an odd yet comforting thought. The feeling is almost off, like Castiel is expecting something different. He has no basis for comparison, however, and so he takes pride in the friendship he has with Dean.

***

Weeks pass by, and then months. It is the longest Castiel has been in Heaven since flying into Hell to save the Righteous Man. Castiel figured that he would be able to visit Dean whenever he wanted, but that, like many other things, was proving more difficult than he originally had thought. Dean never asked for Castiel, never showed any interest in his company again after Sam Winchester had returned.

But then Dean calls out to Castiel one night, praying timidly in a way that only a former atheist would. Castiel finds himself flying faster than he thought he ever could, something like excitement rushing through his body.

Dean’s prayer takes Castiel to a field not unlike the one he had brought Dean to all those months ago.

Castiel’s smile fades when he sees Dean, streaks of blood staining his cheeks, eyes wide and wet with terror. He is sitting in the long grass, arms shaking where they hold a limp male body, who Castiel knows from the delicate embrace is Sam.

 

Castiel’s voice is quiet. “Dean?”


End file.
